


Building Bridges From Ashes

by Liron_aria



Series: The Sam Winchester School of Hunting [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cage Trauma, F/M, Family Shenanigans, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, This was a labour of love okay, We get the long-awaited apology from Dean, and swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3345626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liron_aria/pseuds/Liron_aria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long, hard road from the Mark to restoring Dean to his old self. The fallout from that wasn't exactly what anyone wanted or expected, creating more scars and bruises.</p><p>Now, it's time to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building Bridges From Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> OH GOD IT'S OVER
> 
> I mean - this fic was a long time coming.
> 
> Normal font between brackets is Standard Spoken Enochian. Italicised font is Higher Enochian.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, Sam would get a ton more screen time, meaningful relationships with other characters, and Jess. Jess would come back.
> 
> But that is neither here nor there, so please, sit back and enjoy!

Sam’s kids don’t seem keen on leaving the bunker. Dean finds them underfoot everywhere he goes, especially in the library, the common room, and the kitchen. And when Sam’s not around, none of them care to play nice.

“You’re lucky to have him, you know.”

Dean looks up from his whiskey to glare at Claire. It’s ten in the morning, and he knows she wasn’t in the bunker overnight. Guess that means it’s time for another round bitchfits over Sam.

Claire looks unfazed and continues, “After everything you’ve done to him, I’m amazed he stays.”

Dean snorts and turns back to his drink.

“I mean, tricking him into being possessed by an angel?”

Dean grunts. “He told you about that, hunh?”

“He was comforting me.”

Dean looks up sharply and Claire places her hands on the table calmly, leaning forward. “Former angelic vessel, too, remember? And after Castiel… I would rather _die_ than let anything in me again. And Sam? Having been possessed by _Lucifer_? Let’s just say we can relate.”

“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”

“On the other hand, maybe I do. See, he never talks about you in anything but glowing terms. Always ‘Dean’s a great hunter’ or ‘Dean cleaned up my mess’ or ‘Dean’s been there for me through thick and thin’-“

“I _have_ ,” Dean points out.

“ _Shut up._ ” Claire’s glare is vicious, and a lesser man would have cringed. “God, you’ve really bought into your own press, haven’t you? But I just watched you beat the _shit_ out of him for doing what you never could, right after he _saved your life_. More than your life, he saved your goddamn _soul._ I had to watch, week after week, him getting more and more worn down after listening to you shut him down and tell him his opinions have no worth.

“But he would still do anything for you. He would relive all the tortures of Hell to find a way to save you. And you? You _tricked_ him into letting an angel possess him, and then let a demon possess him _at the same time_. You turned yourself into a demon and _tortured him._ And you can’t even forgive him for needing space?”

Claire shakes her head in disgust. “If I had a brother who loved me even half as much as Sam loves you, I still wouldn’t even _dream_ of treating him the way you do. Because I know I’d lose him in a heartbeat. And if you stay on this course, you’re going to lose Sam, too.”

* * *

Claire disappears before noon, but Dean finds the kitchen stocked a lot fuller than it was in the morning.

There’s homemade lasagna in the fridge, salad, juice bottles, vegetables, chicken and fish fillets in the freezer, and actual flour and spices in the cupboards…

“Sure, make yourself right at home,” Dean mutters. But, he’ll admit, it’s a nice change from their standard stock of beer, coffee, frozen food, and salad.

“The lasagna’s pretty good,” Sam says, entering the kitchen, “Claire brought it over, and she and Jesse dragged us out to the farmer’s market to get the rest.”

Dean looks at the lasagna dubiously. “Guess the munchkins are good for something.”

Sam smiles slightly, reaching for a plate. “You want some?”

“Ah - no, no I’m good,” Dean replies, “I’m just gonna grab a beer…”

“We’re probably out, actually.”

“… What.”

Sam shrugs slightly. “It’s been pretty busy since you… left. And with Jesse, Ben, Jake, and Claire running around, I never really bothered to restock any alcohol.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise disbelievingly. “So there’s - damn, Sammy, you turn the place into a daycare while I was gone?”

Sam’s lips thin and he sets his plate down. “Dean… it’s not like that.”

“Seems like that,” Dean muttered, opening the fridge and looking inside again. “They’ve been underfoot all the time ever since I got back.”

Sam sighs, feeling the fatigue from the past several days overtake him again. “They’re just worried, Dean. It’s been a long couple months, and they’ve been through a lot, too.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well, I guess it makes sense, right?”

Sam looks at his brother carefully. There’s an unexpected bite in Dean’s tone, and the last time he’d looked at Sam like that… well, it wasn’t really a good time for either of them. “What do you mean?” he asks warily.

Dean shrugs with a dry chuckle. “I mean, if it ain’t a vet and a dog, it’s a daycare.”

There’s a roaring in his ears, and the shoulder Dean dislocated earlier throbs with pain. “That isn’t fair, Dean! This is _nothing_ like that!”

“Right,” Dean drawls, “Because you actually brought me back this time. Funny how that goes, right?”

Sam shoots to his feet, sending his stool clattering behind him. The room’s getting warmer around him, but he can’t stop himself from blurting out, “What is your _problem_ , Dean?!”

Dean scowled. “My _problem_? Oh, I’m not the one with a _problem_ here - after all that crap you gave me about bringing you back -“

“You turned _into a demon_ , Dean! What was I _supposed_ to do?!”

Sam feels fire race along his arms and misses Dean’s response.

Shit. _Shit shit shit why had he thought it was a good idea to aggravate Dean again -_

“I don’t think we should do this right now, Dean,” Sam cuts in, trying to keep his voice level. His self-control is still down the toilet and he needs _time_ \- to get his guard back up, to pack away the memories of the Cage -

“No, I think we _should_ do this now,” Dean replies, striding towards Sam, “Without your pack of guard dogs barking at me for breathing.”

Sam tenses. “That’s not -“

He thinks he says something else, but the walls of the kitchen disappear into the kaleidoscope of the Cage, and he’s not sure.

 _Shit._ Not now, not now…

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Dean.”

Sam digs his thumb into the scar on his palm, but it’s not _working_ , the Cage isn’t going away, can’t Dean _see_ -

“Fine, run away, you’re good at that,” Michael snarls.

_No no no no no nononono -_

“Dean, please -“

There are flames rising up around them, and Michael’s grace wraps around him, binding him, shackling him, burning him -

“Dammit, Sam -“

Dean - _Michael_ , it’s always Michael, never Dean, not here - speaks and Sam crashes to his knees where he belongs, looking into Dean’s wrathful face, knowing he deserves it, but he is _so weak - <<I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please ->>_

Dean is snarling at him - _Michael_ , he has to remember that, has to remember that he isn’t worthy of Dean, never has been, but he is weak and selfish and wretched and can’t bear this when the One Who Is Like God wears Dean’s face - “Not Dean, Michael, not Dean, not him - I deserve his wrath, your wrath, I know I know I << _know please have mercy please please please - >>_

And he’s begging and sobbing and Michael is roaring around him, demanding his submission, his repentance for a sin that can never, _should never_ be forgiven, for Michael is Just, and he is lower than the worst sinner and he is burning, burning, burning, flames searing through his flesh and into his soul, powerless against the wrath of the archangel -

Until darkness rises around him, and Michael grants him the gift of oblivion.

* * *

Thunder rumbles in the distance as Sam slowly drifts to awareness. He feels safe, cradled in the eye of the storm.

_Rest, Sam. You are safe._

The voice wraps around him, gently, as if he’s worthy, as if he’s a creature deserving of such kindness. No - he isn’t - he has to warn the voice, so it can leave before Michael and Lucifer return to punish him, so that it doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.

_No, Sam…_

Can’t it _see?_ He’s filthy, tainted - the Abomination destined to break the world. He deserves the Cage, deserves the archangels’ wrath, has to be punished for his sins, for _Michael is Just -_

The voice is silent, and Sam thinks maybe it’s gone, maybe it’s somewhere far away where the infection in his blood can’t spread to it.

Maybe he’s finally done something right, meagre as it is.

And then the voice is back, wrapping around him infinitely gently, and he’s drowning in compassion and mercy he is so unworthy of.

_Rest, fragile soul, beloved of God. Rest, and find peace._

Between one breath and the next, Sam rests.

* * *

When Sam wakes up again, he’s on a soft couch, with a warm blanket draped over him. He doesn’t recognise the room, but there’s a sense of peace inside him, the fading traces of far-away-sheet-lightning he associates with Flagstaff.

What…

He’d been at the bunker, talking to Dean. It had been hard, trying to focus on Dean, past the memories of Michael and Lucifer -

Sam drops his head back and groans. He went full-tilt into a flashback, right in front of Dean. He blacked out, and now he’s somewhere… not in the bunker.

Great.

“Sam? You’re up!”

Sam sits up and turns towards the female voice. “… Jody?”

Jody Mills smiles warmly, approaching the couch as Sam struggles to get up. “Hey - no, take it easy, you’re still pretty banged up.”

Sam sinks back into the couch at Jody’s firm but gentle touch. “Uh… How… How did I get here, exactly?”

“Your angel friend dropped you off,” Jody replies, adjusting the pillows at Sam’s back and pulling up the blanket.

“… Cas dropped me off?”

Jody blinks. “I think she said her name was Flagstaff?”

Right. The sheet-lightning-that-isn’t.

“Did she say why?”

“She said it wasn’t safe for you where you were, and that she brought you here because, well, you trusted me.” Jody’s cheeks pink slightly, and she continues, “And then told me to look after you. Judging by the state of you, I can see why.”

Sam shakes his head, wincing slightly at the spike of pain. He knows what he must look like - dislocated shoulder, newly healed cuts and fading bruises, and now a concussion on top of that. “It’s not like that, Jody. I’m fine.”

Jody’s eyebrow rises and she clearly isn’t buying it. “I think you need a new definition of ‘fine,’ Mister. You relax, Alex is warming up some soup and she’ll bring it right out.”

Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Jody shoots him another look and he settles back. Discretion is the better part of valour here.

* * *

There are days when Dean isn’t exactly sure how this is his life.

Today is one of them.

First his brother has a total freakout screaming about Michael and forgiveness, and then cracks his head against the table so hard he blacks out, and a bitchy angel teleports him away before Dean can even get to him.

And now the same bitchy angel is standing in front of him, ripping him a new one.

“ - Your _brother_! Even the _children_ could see what a fragile state he was in, but you managed to send him back into the Cage when left alone with him for _five minutes -_ do _not_ move, I’m not done with you yet!”

Flagstaff’s in front of him before he can say another word, slamming him back against the wall.

“What the Hell - get the fuck _off_ me!”

Fuck, where is his angel blade - he scrabbles for a weapon, anything he can reach - his fingers grip a bowl and he slams it against her head.

The bowl shatters, and Flagstaff remains unmoved.

“Are you done?”

She pins him against the wall without breaking a sweat, holding him in place without any visible effort. The last time he’d felt like this in the presence of an angel had been when he first met Castiel.

“You fucking wish,” he snarls, continuing to struggle, his mind racing.

“I suggest you don’t assume that just because I’m a healer I don’t know a hundred ways to kill you before you blink.”

“What the Hell do you care, anyway?!” Dean demands furiously, “Your kind doesn’t even _like_ him - what is it you guys always call him, the Abomination, the Boy With Demon Blood…”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to throw stones, Winchester.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh great, here we go. Sam send another guard dog to bitch at me for what a _terrible brother_ I am?”

Flagstaff pushes away from Dean disgustedly, but her power still holds him in place. “No, you insect, Sam is my charge and I notice when someone undoes my hard work to help him heal.”

Dean frowns. “The Hell?”

“How exactly did you _miss_ the fact that Sam hasn’t been sleeping, that he’s been going out of his way not to aggravate you, which shouldn’t surprise anyone since you tortured him within an inch of his life the last time you two were in close quarters - was that the _point?_ To break him down so you could step in and _save_ him?”

“ _You have no idea what you’re talking about!”_ Dean roars, renewing his struggles to get free. “Sammy’s my _brother_ \- I’ve looked after him my _whole life_ \- which is a damn sight more than I can say for you feathered dickbags _.”_

“You attacked him and dislocated his arm for working with Ben Braeden,” Flagstaff replies bluntly. “If that’s your definition of ‘love,’ then it’s a good thing I intervened.”

“What the Hell did you do to him?” Dean hisses.

“I took him away.”

“ _Where,_ dammit!”

Flagstaff looks at Dean coolly, finally releasing him. “Somewhere safe. Where _you_ can’t hurt him anymore.”

Dean swears when she disappears before he can punch her.

* * *

Sam sits up with a sharp gasp, scrambling to throw the blankets off him. It’s dark, it’s too dark, he doesn’t know where he is, _if_ he is -

He crashes to the floor, pain screaming through his arm and his hip.

Okay. He’s real. And there’s a floor.

His heart hammers in his chest as he scrambles to his feet, searching, searching wildly for light, please _God let there be light -_

He flinches instinctively following the thought, but he’s not in the Cage, he’s _out_ , he’s in - he’s in -

He stumbles into the kitchen, sinking down against the doorway, revelling in the warm white-yellow glow of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling.

He’s going to buy Jody a _cake_ for having such a brightly lit kitchen.

When, y’know, he can stand again.

“… Sam?”

Sam inhales sharply and looks up to see Alex sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the fridge, a pint of ice cream and a spoon in her hand.

Sam’s heart is still beating too fast, but he settles into a more comfortable position, wincing as he registers the pain in his arm. “Hey, Alex. Rough night?”

“Probably not as rough as yours,” the girl replies, pointing at him with her spoon. “Nightmare?”

Sam hesitates before inclining his head. “Something like that.”

Sam leans his head against the wall and breathes slowly, willing his heart rate down, waiting for the blood pounding in his ears to fade. He’s safe. He’s at Jody’s.

“Was it dark?”

Sam looks at Alex sharply.

She flushes slightly, but asks again, “Your nightmare? Was it dark? You seemed kind of… glad, when you saw the light.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘euphoric’,” Sam replies dryly, his voice raspier than he’d like. “And yeah, it was dark.”

“… Do you want to talk about it?”

Sam shakes his head. “Trust me, Alex, you don’t want to know.”

Alex shrugs, turning back to her ice cream, and almost immediately makes a noise of displeasure. Sam looks at her scrunched up face and cracks a smile. “Brain freeze?”

“Ugh. Yes. You, uh, want some?”

Sam considers her for a moment, and then pushes himself back up with a groan. “Sure, why not.”

He grabs a spoon out of the drying rack and settles down next to Alex, keeping his good hand at her side. “… Is that _green?_ ”

“Mint chocolate-chip,” Alex replies with a smile. “What, you’ve never had it before?”

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t think so, no.”

They eat in silence for a while, before Alex comments softly, “It’s Conner’s birthday today.”

“Your brother?”

Alex nods, staring down at her knees. “Yeah. He, uh, he had a thing for ice cream. Made us try out all flavours when we got the chance. He… he really liked this one flavour - mango and coconut and rum, you could only get it down in Florida -“ Alex’s voice breaks and she curls in on herself. “I miss him. It’s sick and I hate him, hate what they made me do, but he made me laugh and _I miss him._ ”

Sam’s expression softens, and he places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not sick, Alex.”

“He was a _vampire._ ”

“He was your family.”

Alex muffles a sob and Sam rubs her shoulders. “I, uh, I ran away from home a lot when I was younger, too. Dad raised me and my brother as hunters, and I hated it. I hated the moving, the danger - I just wanted to be safe. To be stable. But I always came home. Because Dad and Dean - they’re my family. And I still hate the way Dad raised us, but I still love him. When he died, I missed him like Hell. And Dean… No matter what he does, he’s still my brother. So I get it. It’s okay to still love them.”

“I didn’t want to help them kill.”

“I know.”

“Why couldn’t they have just let me be?”

Sam continues rubbing her shoulders and Alex shifts so that she’s leaning against him, tucked under his arm. Sam’s not entirely sure why she’s so open around him - maybe she just needs someone to talk to, and he’s the only one available in the middle of the night. Maybe she sees a kindred spirit. Whatever the reason, he hopes he can be of _some_ comfort to her.

Even if he has no idea how to answer her last, and probably most important, question.

* * *

 _“I’m going to fucking kill Dean!_ ”

Sam looks up from his novel with a faint smile. Jody’d found him and Alex talking in the kitchen about Egyptian history, the carton of ice cream long since empty, and shooed them both back to bed - though Sam has yet to actually fall asleep.

“Hi, Claire.”

Claire sounds like an angry teakettle and Sam smiles in fond exasperation. “I’m okay, Claire.”

“You are _not!_ ” Claire replies shrilly, and Sam winces as the sound goes straight to the back of his head. “Sam - crap, sorry, I didn’t mean to -“

“I’m -”

Claire huffs, one hand on her hip and the other pointing at him in warning. “Do not say you are ‘fine’ or ‘okay’ or any variation thereof.”

Sam holds up his hand in surrender, dimples flashing as he grins. “Whatever you say, Miss Novak.”

Claire opens her mouth to reply, then stops, dazed. “That’s unfair. You are unfair. Jody! Tell him he’s unfair!”

Jody looks into the room and just grins in response.

“Where’s Jake?”

“SAT subject tests,” Claire replies, looking over Sam with an eagle eye. “Did Dean beat you up again? It’s been half a day!”

“No!”

Jody frowns. “Wait, _Dean_ did this to you?”

Sam blinks, looking at the Sheriff. “Hunh? Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

Claire makes a frustrated noise, her fingers twitching at her sides, before she crosses her arms with a scowl.

Jody looks between Sam and Claire, suddenly seeing Sam’s injuries in a new light. “It doesn’t look like nothing, Sam,” she said slowly, “You’re hurt pretty bad.”

Sam yawns and mumbles absently, “It’s fine. Dean was just pissed, it’s been rough for him lately.”

Oh. Jody doesn’t like where this is going at all.

“Just pissed,” Jody says flatly. “And that makes it alright?”

Sam blinks. “I-“

“How long has this been going on, Sam?”

“It’s not what you think, Jody,” Sam protests.

“It’s exactly what you think,” Claire replies promptly, “And for several years.”

“Claire!”

“ _He tortured you while I watched,_ Sam, I don’t have to cut him any slack!”

Sam’s face creases in distress and he pushes himself up straighter. “Claire, enough -“

Jody puts a hand on Claire’s shoulder, warning her to calm down, and says gently, “It’s fine, Sam. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. But maybe you should stay here for a while? Until you’re rested up?”

A conflicted expression crosses Sam’s face, before he sags back against the pillows. “Yeah. That’d… That’d be nice.”

Jody leaves Claire chattering at Sam about a school project she’s working on, while Sam listens fondly, relaxing. Jody can still see the exhaustion in the lines of his body, but his eyes are bright and alert.

And maybe a little bit desperate, too.

The sheriff sighs and makes her way up the stairs to pick up her uniform. She’s not quite sure what to think - no, she knows _what_ to think, has seen enough domestic violence cases pass through her office over the years to know _what to think_ \- but this is Sam and Dean. These two brothers who have gone through Hell and high water for each other.

And then Dean turned into a demon, sending four teenagers running scared to her house.

And now Sam’s in her guest bedroom, bruised and battered with a concussion and his arm in a sling.

Because Dean was angry.

_How’ve you been? Touch and go._

_Furrowed brow, pale skin and stubble, tense shoulders._

Ah, Hell.

“He’s a lot like me, y’know.”

Jody turns sharply to see Alex at the door. “Alex! I thought you were sleeping.”

Alex shrugs. “I heard Claire come in. Sam, though. We talked last night, and… he gets it. Family like that.”

Jody sighs. “I’m starting to see that. I just wish I’d seen it sooner.”

“You’re seeing it now, that counts, right?”

Jody nods with half a smile. She’d missed it before, despite her experience and training.

She’s not going to miss anymore.

* * *

_“I’m going fucking to kill Dean!”_

Alex bursts into giggles at Jesse and Jacob’s outraged cries. “That’s the first thing Claire said, too.”

Jody’s at work, and she, Sam, and Claire have just finished lunch, relaxing in the living room when Jesse and Jacob turn up. 

“They’ve been threatening that as long as I’ve known them,” Sam says with a yawn. “You get used to it.”

All three teens in question grumble. “Because we’re _right_ ,” Jake stresses, “Seriously, we’re gone for a day, and you get beat to Hell all over again.”

“Only the concussion is new -“

“That is not helping!”

The rest of Sam’s protests get cut off by a large yawn.

“Sam’s been up most of the night,” Claire explains with a significant look to the boys, “He wanted to wait until you guys got back.”

“How was the subject test?”

Jacob groans, dropping himself dramatically onto the armchair by the sofa. “It _suuucked._ Seriously, I hate Spanish, who thought it was a good idea for me to take the SAT Subject test?”

“Five out of eight of the colleges you want to apply to,” Claire replies dryly.

Jacob makes a face at his girlfriend, and Sam chuckles. “What about the other two?”

“Math was a total breeze, I could have aced it when I was, like, ten. US History was kind of eh, but I think I did okay.”

Claire and Jesse roll their eyes as Jake continues, “No, but there was this one dude during the break…”

Claire perches on the arm of Jacob’s chair, idly playing with his hair as he talks. Despite his apparent exhaustion from a morning of test-taking, Jacob chatters animatedly about his morning, keeping everyone’s attention on him - 

\- And off Sam, who slowly falls asleep.

* * *

“So how bad is it?” Jake asks with a frown as they all gather around the kitchen table.

Claire purses her lips and Jesse glances back out to where Sam’s napping.

“Oh. Great.”

“He, uh, he had a nightmare last night,” Alex offers, “We stayed up all night talking. Did you know Hatshepsut was a Hell of a lot better ruler of Egypt than Cleopatra, because _nothing bad_ happened during her reign?”

Jacob blinks, and Jesse nods thoughtfully. “There’s a new book coming out all about her, I was going to pick it up. You want it when I’m done?”

Alex’s expression lights up. “That’d be great!”

“ _Okay_ ,” Jacob declares, cutting in, “Not that watching you geek out over old dead people isn’t fascinating, but can we get back on track?”

Claire elbows her boyfriend and Jesse rolls his eyes. “Did he happen to say what the nightmare was about, Alex?”

The brunette shrugs. “Not really. But I think maybe it had something to do with darkness, he was about to kiss the floor when he saw how bright the kitchen was.”

The other three exchange glances. Probably the Cage. Jacob swears, clenching his fists. “Friggin’ - how long does he have to keep suffering?!”

Alex glances away, and Claire and Jesse press their lips in a thin line.

“We need to do something,” Claire decides.

Jacob pouts. “Sam won’t let us kill Dean, remember?”

Alex snorts, and Claire rolls her eyes. “Not about Dean, for Sam. Forget Dean. We’ve got Sam to ourselves for a while, we should do something nice for him.”

Jacob looks at his girlfriend, before nodding firmly. “Alright, I’m going to see what Jody has around here.”

Jacob stands, and the others watch as he putters around the kitchen, pulling ingredients out of the cupboards. Alex leans over to Claire. “What is he doing?”

“I’m making tiramisu!” Jacob declares, pulling eggs out of the fridge. “We’re going to need kaluha. Possibly rum.”

Alex looks at him dubiously. “I didn’t know tiramisu was alcoholic…”

Jacob slams a pan down on the counter. “ _Now it is._ ”

Claire pats her friend on the shoulder. “He stress-bakes. It’s better than trying to constantly restrain him from killing Dean.”

“Jesse, make a list,” Jacob orders in the background, “You’re going shopping!”

* * *

Back at the bunker, Dean roves listlessly through the common area, grumbling to himself. It’s quiet, which isn’t any different from normal, but there’s just something… off. Trust Sammy to distract him, even when he’s not around.

There’s a stash of notebooks in one corner, and Dean pulls them out, flipping through them. There’s four sets of handwriting in them, none of them Sam’s. There’s notes about Cain, Abel, demonic physiology, warding sigils, anything and everything that could remotely be tied to curing demons.

Dean’s gut churns unpleasantly as he recognises Ben’s scrawl. After everything he’s done to keep Ben safe…

_Did u + Krissy break up again?_

_How the fuck is that any of your business, Fox Boy?_

_So u did!_

_We’re taking a break, alright? She’s got this thing with a girl she met a while ago. Daughter of the owner of a bar hunters use._

_Why are you two passing notes like teenage girls in middle school?_

_Claire! Private conversation!_

_B/c Sam’s asleep for the first time in, like, 3 days, and a whisper would probably wake him up._

There are more notes scribbled in margins and taking over pages.

 _I don’t get it, y’know. Why Sam’s so determined to save Dean, and not just put him down. Bastard’s body count’s rising by the_ _day_ _, and Sam’s still convinced there’s good in him._

 _Sam loves him. I think it’s just as simple as that. Sam got_ _shot_ _for Jake because he cares about him. Think how much more he would - and has - gone through for Dean._

_You didn’t see the condition he was in when we found him - cuts and burns and bruises and I’m pretty sure his ribs were cracked._

_You’re only making my point for me, Fox Boy. I don’t think I can ever forgive him for what he did to me and my Mom._

_My Mom’s dead, so forgiveness isn’t just off the table, it’s not even on the planet. I just wish Sam would let us kill him_ _now._

_Is killing Dean worth losing Sam?_

_That ain’t fair, Jes._

_Jesse’s right. I don’t know why Sam loves Dean so much that he would XXXXXXXX that he would go through everything he has for him. I wake up at night with Sam’s screams in my ears, seeing Dean carve him up… I don’t even want to imagine what Sam wakes up with._

_Dean calling him a monster, mostly._

_???_

_The fuck?!_

_How the Hell do you know that, Jes?_

_Antichrist, most powerful psychic on the planet? Sam’s good at hiding it, but sometimes I get flashes - Dean calling him a monster, yelling at him, all that crap Dean was spewing when we first tried to cure him - it’s all on repeat in his head._

_I’m going to fucking kill Dean._

_Seconded._

_Thirded._

_Motion passed._

Dean slams the notebook shut. What the Hell do they know.

_I don’t even want to imagine what Sam wakes up with. Dean calling him a monster, mostly._

That was - that was _years_ ago. He and Sam have already hashed that out, he’s fucking _told_ Sam that he wouldn’t put anything in front of him. It’s not on him if the kid doesn’t believe him.

_I don’t think I can ever forgive him for what he did to me and my Mom._

Ben and Lisa, though… There hasn’t been a day gone by he doesn’t think of them. He’d brought so much danger and misery into their lives, the best thing he could do for them was to leave, cut himself out completely. And if Ben can’t see that…

Dean pushes down the hurt. Ben’s just a kid. One day, he’ll grow up and realise what Dean did for him.

* * *

“I haaaaaaate Spanish conjugation…”

Claire looks up from her World History homework amusedly. “We know, Jake.”

“Why am I taking Spanish?”

“Because it’s the only foreign language our high school offers.”

“Why aren’t you taking Spanish?”

“Because I studied Italian since I was a kid, and passed AP Italian with a five freshman year.”

Jacob groans melodramatically and drops his head onto his textbook. “Saaaaaaaaam…”

“Aprender español le ayudará a entrar en la universidad, Jake.”

Jake stares at him blankly, before Claire tilts his head back towards his essay.

“I hate you all.”

Jesse responds with a much longer tirade in Spanish, and Jake shoots him the evil eye.

Alex raises an eyebrow. “This happen often?”

Sam chuckles. “Well, Ben isn’t around, so we don’t have to worry about any furniture breaking.”

“See if I ever make you tiramisu again!”

“That’s not how you conjugate present progressive.”

“What?!” Jacob squawks, looking back down at his essay and returning to it with a continuing chain of grumbling.

Sam grins affectionately and turns to help Alex. “Anyway, like I was saying, matrices can be really confusing at first, but once you get the hang of them, they’re one of the most powerful mathematical tools you’ll know.”

Sam draws out brackets filled with numbers on a sheet of scratch paper. “You were having trouble with the multiplication, right?”

“Yeah,” Alex sighs.

Sam nods. “Hey, don’t worry, I had trouble with matrices, too,” he assures her with a smile, “Why do you think I went into the liberal arts?”

“Doesn’t count, you went to Stanford,” Jake cuts in archly.

“¿No tienes un ensayo sobre la historia de la tauromaquia a escribir?”

Jacob whines in the back of his throat and returns to writing. Sam chuckles fondly and Jesse pointedly props up his Spanish edition of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ in Jake’s eyeline. Jesse grins and bites a forkful of tiramisu before turning a page.

“I never really got to spend much time in school,” Alex comments wistfully, “Never wound up in any study groups, either.”

Sam snorts. “Trust me, with these guys? You’ll never get _out_ of a study group.”

The sound of keys jangling in the door makes it through the room, and all heads turn to see Jody enter the house.

“Jody!”

“Hi Jody!”

The sheriff’s eyebrows rise. “There are more of you than I remember this morning.”

Jacob grins unrepentantly. “I made tiramisu!”

“And angel food cake, and waffles,” Jesse adds dryly, “That’s why the house smells like a bakery.”

Jody laughs. “I’m glad you guys are having fun. Is there anything left in the kitchen for me to make dinner?”

“Claire wants to make chicken parmesan,” Alex replies cheerfully.

“We have parmesan cheese?”

“I went shopping,” Jesse explains with a wave, “Your pantry, uh, might be completely full right now.”

Jody looks at Sam with wide eyes, and the hunter shrugs. “I was asleep the whole time, I’m not responsible!”

“Sure you aren’t, Winchester,” Jody says with a roll of her eyes, “I’m gonna go get changed. I’m glad you’re feeling better, Sam.”

Sam gives her a sunny grin in response.

* * *

“Whiskey,” Dean says to the bartender without preamble, tossing down a few bills, “And keep it coming.”

The bartender glances at him warily, but turns and grabs a bottle. He’s at a bar a few towns over from the bunker. He’d have gone to his usual, but the bartender there knows him and can get kind of chatty. He’s not in the mood for anyone he knows, too angry, too bitter, Flagstaff and Ben and Sam swirling around in his head. All he wants is nameless faces in a crowd, the smooth burn of liquor at the back of his throat, and hopefully a warm body to keep him occupied for the night. 

He sees a redhead on the other side of the bar, curly hair, hell of a rack, and deep enough into her cups that she won’t mind a little friendly attention. “And a California Sunshine for the sweetheart down at the end.”

The bartender rolls her eyes, but follows through on the order.

Dean grabs his drink and saunters over. “Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this all on your own?”

The redhead looks up at him and snorts. “That the best you got?”

Dean grins. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m just warming up. Name’s Dean.”

The redhead smirks. “You’re gonna need to work a lot harder than that.”

“I can rise to the challenge.”

The woman snorts, but her smile widens a little.

He’s making  good progress, Layla giggling, her hand on his arm, when a few large figures appear in his field of vision.

“We got a problem here?” Dean growls, annoyed.

The tall one - wait, that’s Mike Hartford. Dean frowns. “Mike?”

Mike tilts his head towards Layla. “Sorry, Ma’am, but Dean here and us need to have a little chat. Outside.”

Dean leans back in his seat. “Yeah? Rain check, Mike, I’m a little busy here.”

“I’d listen to him if I were you,” one of Mike’s friends replies, his name’s Kenny or Kevin or something.

Layla between the men uneasily. “You know what, I think I’m just gonna call a cab. Nice meeting you, Dean.”

“Hey, wait,” Dean protests, reaching out to grab her arm. “Just give me a sec, I’ll get rid of these guys.”

Layla shakes her head. “Look, Dean, it’s been fun, but I really should get going.”

“The lady said no, Winchester,” Kenny - no, Kyle, that’s his name - snaps, stepping in front of Layla and yanking Dean’s hand away.

Dean shoots to his feet angrily. “What the _Hell_ is your problem?!”

“My _problem_ is _you_ ,” Kyle snarls disgustedly.

The third man in Mike’s crew decides to join in. “Your kind isn’t welcome here, Winchester.”

“My kind?”

“Demons.”

Dean scoffs. “Maybe you need your eyes checked, man. I’m 100% human.”

Mike sneers. “Your brother may have covered your ass by telling hunters to steer clear and pulled another miracle out of _his_ ass to turn you human again, but that doesn’t mean any of us are about to forget what you became.”

“Hey, it’s not like the kid’s squeaky clean, either,” Dean snaps defensively, inwardly furious. After everything they’d been through, Sam was just going to throw him under the bus like this?!

Mike and his friends roll their eyes. “He’s also the reason any of us are still here and not dead thanks to an angelic grudge match. You? You left a trail of bodies a mile and a half high. Three guesses as to which one of you hunters trust right now.”

Dean clenches his fists, glaring back at the other hunters. “It’s a free country. You got somethin’ to say, you can shove it up your -“

Dean blocks the - predictable - incoming hit and responds with his own haymaker, knocking Mike’s friend hard onto to table behind him. Mike leaps at him snarling, and Dean can’t stop the flare of satisfaction inside him.

Might as well work off some of that pent-up energy.

* * *

He’s hanging from chains, his blood dripping to the floor as Lucifer walks around him.

His eyes are already burned out from witnessing Lucifer’s true form, vast and beautiful and terrible, never meant to be seen by his unworthy eyes. The image is burned into his mind, his thoughts a maelstrom of gibbering fear at an entity never meant to be understood by human minds, so far beyond his comprehension that he can feel his sanity

_splintering_

And he’s screaming, screaming at the knives twisting through his hands

at Jess scraping the molten sludge of what used to be his eyeballs away disgustedly

at Dean peeling away his flesh to get to his spine

as the soles of his feet burn

_please please please have mercy please GOD forgive me save me -_

_< <BE SILENT, FILTH!>>_

Michael roars in fury, at his gall, his _audacity_ to call upon the Father, on the King of Glory, as if He would even listen to an abomination like him. Sam’s ears bleed as his eardrums burst from the strain of hearing Michael’s true voice, his psychic senses flayed

shredded

the truth burrowing into his soul so he will not, _cannot_ , forget -

_< <SINNER.>>_

_< <DAMNED.>>_

_< <Oh come now, Michael,>>_ Lucifer coos, stroking Sam’s neck and wrapping around him lovingly, _< <Sam is a GIFT.>>_

Sam bucks and screams as Lucifer’s grace floods through him, tearing through his soul, flooding every crack and crevice of his body, pouring out through every orifice and open wound, freezing burning biting searing all-encompassing and eternal.

_< <Look how beautifully he begs. How perfect an offering he is for me.>>_

_< <You debase yourself, brother,>> _Michael snarls and Sam can feel

another fragment

of his sanity 

splinter away

_< <HE IS MINE!>>_

Sam is a thought, he is a thing, he is barely an entity at all.

 _< <You belong to me, Sam,_>> Lucifer hisses, _< <My victory, my trophy, my toy, mine to rend asunder, SAY IT!>>_

Sam is Lucifer’s. Now and forever.

The glory of the Morningstar flares, laughter ripping and clawing through Sam’s mind, his every cell alight in agony.

Sam screams.

Sam burns.

* * *

Jesse jerks away, chest heaving. “Sam?!”

He came down to get a drink of water, and peeked into the guest bedroom to Sam’s face creased in pain. But this… He grabs Sam’s shoulder and shakes him, trying to rouse him. “Sam! Wake up!”

Sam remains trapped in his sleep.

“Sam _please,_ ” the teen begs, eyes stinging, “Please wake up!”

Another flash of Sam’s nightmare hits him and he scrambles back, colliding against the bedside table and knocking things off it, bile rising in his throat. His world washes black as his instinct kicks in, and he hits the ground hard in the upstairs bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet before vomiting.

His mouth tastes like shit and his eyes are wet with tears and his mind is screaming, panicking -

The bathroom light flicks on.

“Jesse?” Claire asks drowsily.

Jesse can only sob, jerking back in terror when the cold porcelain brings back the memory of Lucifer’s touch.

Claire snaps to attention, her sleep flickering away. “Jesse?!”

Jesse curls up tightly, keening and gripping his hair, tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Jesse!” Claire darts over to the younger teen, kneeling down beside him. “Hey, hey, what happened?”

Jesse shakes his head, shuddering. “I don’t - I don’t know - _Claire -_ “

“Okay, okay, come here, sweetheart,” Claire murmurs, tugging Jesse towards her. He nearly bowls her over, tackling her in a tight hug and crying into her shirt.

Claire shifts so she’s sitting with her back against the bathtub, murmuring soft comforts into Jesse’s hair and rubbing his shoulders and back. “It’s okay, Jes, it’s gonna be okay.”

Jesse only clings tighter. Claire slows her breathing and thinks back to quiet nights under warm blankets. “ _Fai la nanna principino, fai la nanna cuoricino. Dormi bene nel lettino…_ ”

Claire keeps stroking Jesse’s dark hair as she sings softly, the old Italian lullaby her grandmother used to sing to her during her childhood.

Comfort.

Quiet.

Peace.

She can’t give Jesse the same things Sam does, but she can help in her own way. “ _Rosso, verde, azzurro, e oro, son piu’ belli, mio tesoro…_ ”

Jesse slowly shifts in Claire’s hold, letting go of her shirt and lowering his arms. He can feel the faint shower of comfort and peace from Claire’s psychic trace and his breathing calms, until his heartbeat matches hers.

“Sam had - still having - a nightmare,” Jesse forces out, “I - I saw it - and I-“

Claire rubs Jesse’s shoulder, her thumbs making small circles on the back of his neck.

“It was bad. It was. _Hell.”_

Claire’s eyes burn and she stares above Jesse’s head, biting her lip. No more tears. She promised no more tears.

“I don’t understand,” Jesse whispers, curling into Claire even more, “How can he hold up against five thousand years of that?”

Claire can only hold him close and tuck him under her chin.

* * *

Jody’s not sure what to think when she pushes open the bathroom door to see Claire and Jesse curled up asleep on the floor. One’s supposed to be asleep on floor of Alex’s room, and the other on an air mattress in the living room.

And there’s vomit in the toilet.

Okay.

She raps on the door and they jolt awake, turning their tear-stained faces towards her. “Jody!”

Jody’s eyes widened. “What happened to you guys?!”

Jesse rubs at his eyes, trying to scramble up. “It - just a nightmare - _shit_ , I forgot to flush the toilet -“

“Jesse -“

“Jesse,” Claire says softly, and the teen stills, thin frame trembling. “C’mere.” She stands, tugging him back into a hug. “Sorry, Jody, it was kind of a rough night.”

Jody’s expression softens. “Alright. Why don’t you guys clean up here, and I’ll get breakfast started downstairs.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, Jody.”

Jody shakes her head and leaves, chuckling at the sound of Claire complaining about Jesse’s morning breath. 

* * *

Sam’s still fast asleep when Jesse prods Jacob in the face as he sprawls across the couch, the teen squawking awake with outrage and flailing limbs. “Son of a -“

“Shh! Sam’s still asleep,” Claire warns, “We don’t - Jake, I am not kissing you, morning breath!”

Jacob pouts and runs his hand through his hair, shaking himself fully awake. “Wait, Sam’s still asleep? Dang, that’s impressive.”

“That’s what happens when you fall asleep somewhere you feel safe,” Claire responds tartly.

Jacob’s gaze hones in on Jesse. “Hey, you okay?”

Jesse avoids Jacob’s gaze, absently rubbing his arms. “Sam had a nightmare. It - it was pretty bad. _Really_ bad.”

Jacob hisses and swears bitterly. “Cage or Dean?”

“Cage.”

“The gift that keeps on giving.”

Claire nods unhappily. “He seems peaceful enough now, so we shouldn’t disturb him. Jody’s making breakfast, go wash up.”

Ten minutes later, Jody looks warily at the three subdued faces in front of her, and at Alex, who looks just as confused. “Alright, guys. What’s with the long faces?”

Jesse seems to curl in on himself and Jacob’s expression hardens. “Just a rough night, Jody.”

Jody’s eyebrows rise, and Alex tilts her head. “Did Sam have another nightmare?”

Jesse, Jake, and Claire, flinch - honest-to-God _flinch_.

“Alex!” Jody scolds.

Alex frowns in confusion. “What? It’s kind of obvious -”

“That’s not the point, Alex. Sam’s nightmares are Sam’s business.”

“I thought talking about it was supposed to help?”

Jacob’s hands slam down on the table. “How the _fuck_ do you talk about being tortured and r-“

“ _Jacob!”_ Claire shrieks, slapping her hand  over her boyfriend’s mouth, eyes flashing, “Shut up!”

“Hey!” Jody snaps, “Both of you, knock it off! We are not going to fight at the breakfast, table, understand?”

Claire drops her hand, looking down at the table, and Jacob glares mulishly.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Sorry, Jody.”

Jody sighs again, shaking her head. “Let’s just try to have a calm breakfast and leave Sam to his sleep, alright?”

* * *

Jesse slips out the back door while everyone else is cleaning up from breakfast and makes his way into the acres behind her house. He stares at his hands for a moment, before calling out, “Flagstaff!”

Jesse looks up at the sky, his fists clenching. “Flagstaff, I know you can hear me! Look, I know the Heavenly Host hates my guts because of what I am - but _please_ \- this isn’t about me, it’s about Sam. _Please_ , he needs help, and I don’t know who else to call.”

No response.

Of course not.

Jesse breathes deeply, stretching out his psychic senses. **_“Flagstaff!”_**

“Jesse Turner.”

Jesse very much does _not_ yelp, rocking back on his heels at the angel’s sudden appearance. “You came.”

Flagstaff’s expression is wry. “Sam is my charge. You were also very loud.” The angel looks him over and then looks beyond him to Jody’s house in the distance. “Sam is healing well.”

Jesse scoffs. “Your definition of ‘healing well’ needs work. He’s -“ Jesse sighs, eyes stinging, clenching and unclenching his fists listlessly, “He’s not okay, Flagstaff. He - the Cage - you have to do something!”

Flagstaff’s expression softens. Of course, Sam’s memories of the Cage are still haunting him. She hasn’t felt a spike in Sam’s distress as she had when his brother sent him spiralling into a flashback, but given Sam’s fortitude, that doesn’t mean he’s not bothered by them. She inclines her head. “I’ll do what I can.”

When they arrive in Sam’s room, a newly awoken Sam lurches back in surprise. “Gah - What - Flagstaff?!”

Flagstaff smiles faintly. “Good morning, Sam.”

Sam blinks, and absently runs his hand through his hair. “Uh, good morning… Why…”

“I called her,” Jesse blurts out, “Because last night - it was terrifying and I don’t know how to help - how can you _stand_ it - it isn’t _fair -_ “

“Whoa - Jesse, Jesse!”

Jesse stops short at Sam’s call, chest heaving. Sam’s expression creases in sorrow, guilt filling his eyes. “You caught the backlash from my nightmare?”

Jesse nods jerkily.

“I’m so sorry, Jesse, I never meant for you to get caught up in that.”

“That’s not the point, Sam!” Jesse insists, gesturing at Flagstaff, “Flagstaff can help.”

Sam’s expression softens and he shakes his head. “She can’t, Jesse.”

Flagstaff’s eyebrows rise slightly. “I am an angel and a healer, Sam. There aren’t a lot of things I can’t do when it comes to healing.”

Sam turns to her, something ancient and familiar in his gaze. “My memories are gracebound, Flagstaff.”

Flagstaff stills, and on another plane, her grace sings, the same strains she sang when Heylel turned away from the Host.

Humans might call it grief.

Sam smiles sadly at her understanding.

Jesse looks between the two adults. “What? What does that mean?”

“It means his memories are embedded in a place I cannot touch - his soul.”

 “Lucifer did!”

Sam startles, but Jesse ploughs on, “I can see the scars Lucifer left on his soul - if he can do _that_ , why can’t you heal him?!”

A year in the hospitals, working tirelessly to comfort humans and assuage their grief, and this never gets any easier. “It is _because_ Lucifer did so that I cannot touch them. Only an archangel can undo another archangel’s work.”

“ _Then what good are you?!”_

“Jesse -“

Jesse storms out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Sam winces. “Sorry, he’s -“

“Right.”

Sam stops short and blinks at Flagstaff. The angel’s lips twitch and she asks, “May I sit?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Flagstaff sits down, her fingers skimming over the sheets on the bed. She can feel the fibres under her touch, see how many bolls were used to make each length of thread, how deep the dye stains some threads and not others. “Our Father created us out of Himself to watch over humanity. Yet there is still so much we have failed to do.”

Sam clears his throat. “I really don’t think God expects you to keep us safe from all harm ever - that would kind of conflict with the whole free will thing. And besides, you’ve helped plenty, working in the hospitals. That’s what you do - you heal, right?”

“That is why I was created, yes.” Sam’s brow furrows slightly, and Flagstaff continues, “Not all angels are cut from the same stock - some are made from the Father’s mercy, from His forgiveness, from His justice…”

<<The angelic lines,>> Sam murmurs, <<From God’s celestial intent. Lucifer and Michael mentioned them. Raphael, the Healer, made from His mercy. Gabriel, the Messenger, made from His wisdom. Michael, the Warrior, made from His justice and wrath. Phanuel, made from His forgiveness…>>

<<And Lucifer, made from His love.>>

Sam snorts bitterly. “Yeah, _that_ worked out well for everyone.”

Flagstaff decides against mentioning that Sam loved him, too, a twisted reflection of what should have been.

Sam shakes his head. “Anyway, what I meant was - you’re doing what you were meant to - healing the hurt, giving them mercy and peace. My… less than stellar soul shouldn’t even be on your radar.”

Flagstaff laughs disbelievingly. “Your soul is _beautiful_ , Sam.”

Sam stares at her.

The angel shakes her head. “It’s like… the sun breaking out over the mountains, bright snow-capped peaks unseen and untouched by man. It’s the vastness of a clear blue sky, the cry of an eagle as it soars. It’s - there aren’t the _words_ in English -“

Flagstaff breaks off back into Enochian and Sam’s eyes widen. She can’t be - not _his_ soul, not that mangled, ruined thing. These words of power and endurance and something so magnificent that humans can barely grasp it as wonder-joy-freedom… They _can’t_ be describing _his_ soul!

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I - yeah, no, it’s - it’s just a bit much to take in,” Sam stammers, “Castiel doesn’t really talk about… anything like this.”

“Castiel is a soldier. His views and skill sets are very different from mine.”

Sam flashes her a small smile, his dimples making an appearance. “Makes sense. How, how are things in Heaven?”

Flagstaff smiles back at him. “They are well. We are rebuilding and returning to our original purposes.”

Sam’s about to respond when Jesse gives an outraged yell from elsewhere in the house. _“Jacob you jerk!”_

_“Payback’s a bitch, brat!”_

Sam groans and rubs his forehead. “I can’t take them _anywhere._ I should go deal with that now…”

Flagstaff stands and watches as Sam turns and leaves, calling out for Jacob and Jesse. She can see his soul shining bright, across multiple planes. She can see where Michael and Lucifer have left their marks, shards of grace continually trying to burrow into a soul so vibrantly resistant. Rhamiel had once theorised that the simpler souls could be described in human tongues, but the greater souls, the chosen ones, the keys to humanity’s growth - they could only be described by the divine.

She can’t describe Sam Winchester’s soul in human tongues alone.

Before she leaves, she looks around at the other souls, of Sam’s children - Jesse Turner’s, dark as ink from his demonic heritage, but where there should be hatred and ugliness, there is only the vast silence of space, more implacable than the seas pressing down on the creatures in their depths. Instead of growing into a vulgar and craven thing, it’s been nurtured into a fearsome beauty, untameable power slumbering quietly.

She hears Claire Novak laugh from above her, the gentle light of her soul made from strands of springtime sunlight curled around laugher. Flagstaff remembers watching gazelles racing across plains, flooded with the same _freedom_ and passion and drive inside Claire.

She can imagine Jacob Pond’s quicksilver grin as he tries to charm Sam, his soul wild and relentless like a falcon swooping onto its prey and crying out to the heavens, like a jaguar, sleek and on the prowl, and as alive as dolphins laughing and playing in the ocean. She can see his love for Claire, as bright as the light of excitement in an artist’s eyes.

She thinks back to Ben Braeden, the last of the quartet, his soul vibrant and dynamic with the noise and chaos in the depths of the jungle. His soul is rich and nurturing like the forest floor, the rumble of bisons stampeding across dusty plateaus, strong and steady as the earth itself.

Souls like these are the reason her Father told His Host to love humanity.

On another plane, her grace sings with something humans might call _joy_ and _purpose_ , melodies stronger than they have been since the Son appeared on Earth.

* * *

Dean groans, trying to think past the drumbeat in his head. What the Hell happened last night?!

Oh. Right. The bar.

He’s got a bruise on his jaw, and raw knuckles - that had been one Hell of a fight. Three against one, he hadn’t had those odds in a while. At least he gave as good as he got - better, even.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean mutters, pushing himself up off the bed, and rising unsteadily. The room swims in front of his eyes and his head throbs in time with his heartbeat.

_Fucking Hell._

He collapses back on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. He’ll just lay here. For a while. Or forever. That’ll work too.

God, he hates hangovers.

And fights.

Ones that he loses,  anyway.

Which he totally didn’t last night.

_“Your kind isn’t welcome here.”_

_“Demons.”_

_“Doesn’t mean any of us are about to forget what you became.”_

Yeah, as if he needs _more_ reminders of that clusterfuck of a situation. He almost wishes he could remember. Maybe then -

\- Maybe then _what?_ Maybe he’ll find out he wasn’t that bad as a demon? He’s known - how long has he feared it? That he’d become one of the black-eyed freaks they hunt? He remembers Hell, remembers coming close.

Remembers _liking it._

He needs another drink.

Sam hasn’t offered him much beyond “It was rough” about what had happened since their fight with Metatron, and Dean hasn’t pressed. But now… Hunters may be loner assholes, but they’re still hunters, and still people he counts on. He’ll need them at some point down the line - because God only knows where he and Sam stand right now - and he can do without them gunning after him for something he can’t even remember doing.

He reaches for his phone and thinks about calling Sam, seeing if he’ll give him any details. Except that Sam was God only knew where because his angel-friend whisked him away. ‘Somewhere safe’ - where the Hell would that be?! The bunker’s the safest place on Earth - even if Sammy still doesn’t consider it home - which is a total lie by now, anyway - he has to know that the warding and spellwork on the bunker is more powerful than anything else on Earth.

Seriously, where’s he going to run off to, Bobby’s? One of the kids’ houses?

The idea of Sam crashing at Lisa’s place makes his stomach churn unpleasantly, and Dean frowns, hefting himself out of bed again. Time to head home.

* * *

_“I’m going to fucking kill Dean!”_

Alex bursts out laughing as Claire, Jacob, and Jesse nod in agreement. Sam just looks to the ceiling for patience.

“Ben.”

“Friggin’ - we didn’t even leave you alone for a week, Sam!”

Sam’s eyebrow arches and his expression shifts. “It’s not your job to take care of me, Ben.”

Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Jacob jerks his hand across his throat quickly, and Ben huffs.

“How was the meet?”

“We won, but we don’t know if it’ll be enough to get into state yet, still waiting on the rest of the division scores.” Ben throws himself down on the couch, half-sprawling across Jacob. “Move, Fox Boy.”

“The fu - _you_ move, Braeden - Jesus, did you even shower before coming here -“

Claire rolls her eyes, and returns to the game of Scrabble she, Alex, and Jesse are playing. “Remind me why I’m dating him?”

Jesse shrugs, hands raised. “Hey, don’t look at me.”

Alex pauses in her response to stare at the board. “Jesse, that isn’t even a word!”

“Yes it is! Sam!”

Sam looks up from the laptop Jody lent him, and tilts his head slightly. “Quotidian - yeah, it means something ordinary, something that happens every day.”

The girls turn as one and stare at Jesse incredulously. _“How the Hell did you get the tiles for that?!”_

Jesse just grins toothily.

“ _Son of a-_ “

Alex snorts and Claire stares fixedly in front of her, a tight smile on her face. “I’m not turning around, I’m not turning around -“

“Well, Jake’s got his foot against Ben’s face, and I’m not entirely sure _where_ Ben’s hand is, so…”

“ _I’m not turning around.”_

Sam laughs, taking in the cheerful chaos around him. “Guys, knock it off. Jody’s couch isn’t yours to break.”

Ben and Jacob grumble and attempt to disentangle themselves with slightly less roughhousing than usual - but no one’s prepared for their shouts of surprise when they both careen off the couch and hit the floor, again a tangle of limbs and bickering.

Jesse grins smugly, sprawling across the couch and claiming it for himself.

Ben and Jacob look up in outrage. “You little _brat -“_

“Ahem,” a woman’s voice cuts in.

All three of them scramble to their feet, looking faintly terrified. Sam has to hide a smile at seeing them all practically standing at attention.

“Jody!”

“Boys.”

“I swear I need to learn the Mom Look,” Claire mutters, watching Jody stare down the boys with raised eyebrows.

Ben breaks first. “We were just, um, we didn’t mean - that is -“

Jody’s lips twitch and her expression shifts to amusement. “Afternoon, Ben.”

Ben swallows and relaxes, and they can almost _see_ the ‘Oh thank God’ floating above his head.

“You planning on staying the night?” Jody asks, shaking her head.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Ben replies with a charming smile, “I promise I won’t make a mess, and I can clean up the dishes -“

“No you won’t,” Jacob mutters incredulously.

Ben stomps on Jacob’s foot, his smile growing more fixed. “- So I’d appreciate it if you could put me up for a night, Ma’am.”

“Is he for real?” Alex murmurs.

“The Ben Braeden Charm,” Claire groans, “You have no idea.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jody replies, “I think there’s another air mattress in a closet somewhere.”

“ _None_ of you should be intruding onto Jody’s house,” Sam points out, “Housing and feeding five more people than usual isn’t easy. You guys don’t need to be here, and I can head back to the bunker -“

“Do not finish that sentence, Sam Winchester,” Jody warns. She smiles at the teens. “It’s no trouble. My place hasn’t been this lively in… a long time. It’s nice. Just try not to eat me out of house and home, alright?”

Sam smiles gratefully and the teens grin. “Yes, Ma’am!”

* * *

There is not enough alcohol in the bunker right now.

Actually, there’s _no_ alcohol in the bunker, not even a beer. Sam really did turn the place into a daycare.

Dean debates making a grocery run into town, but the reason he went to a bar out of town still stands - the people in Lebanon are _chatty._ Okay, it’s a small town, but everyone _cares,_ and they’re always in each other’s business. It’s not something he wants to deal with right now.

Which means grabbing one of the fifty bottles of juice in their fridge.

Mango, lychee - what the Hell is a lychee, and who the Hell drinks it - pear, guava, coconut, kiwi… And, at the very back, orange and apple. What, did Sam infect the kids with his health kick? He can’t imagine Ben ever drinking half of these on a normal day.

He grabs the orange juice and takes a swig.

He really misses his whiskey right now. Because orange juice isn’t going to help him forget everything he’s just learned. Orange juice isn’t going to wipe his mind clean of the blood and gore and Jesse Turner’s meticulous handwriting chronicling his months as a demon. Orange juice isn’t going to let him believe that he and the demon were two separate things.

His hand shakes and Dean hurls the orange juice at the wall before he realises what he’s doing.

How is he supposed to deal with this?!

How does he - how does he just _come back_ from being a _demon?_

Not just a demon, a Knight of Hell, one of the most vicious and cruel of all of Hell’s spawn, who slaughtered his way across the country, leaving a river of blood in his wake. Mike was right. There was no forgetting what he’d become.

He said it before, didn’t he? He’s poison. The people around him get hurt. His hands are stained red with Kevin’s blood, and now a hundred more people.

The notebooks spread out all over the bunker are gathered on the tables in the common room, completely covering them. Most of it’s in Sam and Jesse’s handwriting, a thousand and one theoretical cures, half of them crossed out because they ended in Dean’s death.

Dean laughed bitterly. _Now_ Sam cared. _Now_ he fought tooth and nail to bring Dean back alive, when it would have been easier, better, just to burn him into oblivion like some of the rituals said. Frankly, he’s surprised Sam’s pet angel - Flagstaff - didn’t smite him the moment she got the chance.

Flagstaff. It’s funny, that’s where Sam ran away to when they were kids. And Sam’s gone away again now, where Dean can’t reach him.

He’s never felt so alone.

* * *

“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” Claire says, re-entering the living room with a phone to her ear. “Uh-hunh. Yep. Bye.”

Sam’s resting on the couch and Ben and Jake are working at the coffee table in front of him. Or rather, Jacob works, while Ben listens to music and doodles on a half-filled quiz sheet. Jesse moves around in the background, helping Jody and Alex sort through some of the clutter piled up around the house.

“Tracy says the book was really helpful,” Claire reports, snapping her fingers at Ben to move, “And that she wants a video of you losing a fight with your sling.”

“I did not loose a fight with my sling!” Sam protests.

“You kind of did, Sam,” Jody says with a grin as she passes by them.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone flail around that much while changing since Jacob accidentally grabbed one of my shirts instead of his and didn’t realise,” Claire adds innocently.

_“Claire!”_

“Oh my God,” Sam groans in response, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’ll send it to her,” Ben says with a wicked grin, tugging his headphones loose for a moment, “Also! Mike called and says you’re an idiot for not looking after yourself like he told you to.”

Sam looks at Ben, sputtering. “How do you even have Mike’s number?!”

Jacob holds up his phone, halfway through a text message. “Dude. Phones. Hunter network. Get with the times.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Have you been calling and texting other hunters to gossip about me?”

Ben, Jake, Claire, and Jesse all serenely reply, “Yes.”

Sam looks at Jody pleadingly. “Jody!”

Jody laughs. “Oh, you’re on your own with this one, Winchester.”

“… You’re in on this, aren’t you?!”

“Hey, Sam, sign this,” Jacob cuts in, distracting Sam.

Sam looks down as Jacob shoves a sheet of paper at him. “… Uh, Jake, I’m neither your parent nor your guardian.”

“It’s for parent conferences, you don’t even have to show up.”

Sam narrows his eyes slightly. “Is there any reason I wouldn’t want to?”

Jacob pales. “Uh.”

“His grades are fine, Sam,” Claire intervenes quickly, “And he’s not skipping any classes. But Annalise is…” Claire waves abstractly, “And everyone needs to have a signed form turned in for a grade by Monday.”

“Did you get your Mom to sign yours?” Jacob asks his girlfriend curiously.

Claire blinks. “… Crap, I still need to do that.”

“Dude, just forge his signature,” Ben said lazily, “That’s what I do.”

“Ooh, I like that plan!”

_“Excuse me?”_

Ben’s head snaps up, headphones falling out as he meets Sam’s unimpressed stare. “Uh…”

Sam holds Jacob’s paper out of his reach as he waits expectantly for Ben to explain.

“I… might have… kindasortaforgedyoursignatureonsomeforms,” Ben blurts out, slouching back down to try and escape Sam’s gaze.

It doesn’t work.

Sam huffs, sighing through his nose. He scrawls his signature on the line, and then gestures at Claire for her form. She slips it out of her binder and hands it to him slowly, confused. Sam signs her form, too, asking, “When are your conferences?”

“Friday…”

“Wait,” Jacob yelps, “You’re not coming!”

Sam’s eyebrows rise and Jacob swallows. “If you’re going to use my signature, you’d better believe I’m coming. Try not to schedule anything at the same time as Claire.”

Ben bursts out laughing as Jacob’s expression becomes mortified and Claire’s eyes widen.

“You’re not getting out of it, either, Ben.”

Ben’s jaw drops in horror. “What - Jesus - _Jody make him stop!”_

Jody just grins.

* * *

It’s late in the evening when Dean makes it through the last of the notebooks and papers he collected. He’s distantly impressed at how much the five of them have managed to get accomplished and written down, but he knows Sam’s been around Jacob and Claire for going on a year now, so he must have rubbed off on them.

And Ben as well, apparently. Ben’s notes are almost as neat as Sam’s, focused and organised. He knows Ben, remembers what his schoolwork looks like. Remembers doodles and distraction and disorganised chaos that only made sense to him. If it wasn’t for Ben’s handwriting, he’d have figured these notes were Sam’s.

There’s just - there’s _so much._ There’s the notes and research itself, and then there’s the teens making side comments and full-out conversations in margins and the backs of pages. There’s Jacob, Claire, and Ben splitting their time between school and hunting - does Lisa know? Does Lisa _care?_ He still doesn’t know how Ben got into the life after everything he did, and he can’t imagine Lisa letting him get involved, anyway.

He’d ask Ben, but Ben won’t even give him the time of day.

There’s every action they could find of Dean in these pages, every scrap of conversation they gathered from him, analysed and used to decide what ritual, what spell, what lore they could try to stop him.

To _save_ him, Sam’s frequent comments remind him.

There’s runes and diagrams practiced over and over and over until they’re perfect enough to be in a textbook.

The five of them, for _months,_ steadily working towards an impossible goal. Yeah, Sam had definitely rubbed off on them.

He’s pretty sure the kids have claimed their own rooms, too, if the mussed sheets and occasional stationery are any indication. Because for all his froufrou tendencies, Sam does _not_ use bright orange glitter pens.

What does he do now? Because he can’t run away from how desperately Sam - and Ben, and Hell, _Jacob_ \- searched for a way to save him, to remove the Mark of Cain from his arm and change him back to a human. It’s another nail in his coffin, another roadblock preventing him from running away from the fact that _he became a demon._

The only glimmer of light is that he’s seen Jody’s name crop up, a lot. If what he’s pieced together is right, Sam and the kids went to Jody’s after the first time Dean -

Well. Maybe it’s someplace Sam considers “safe.”

Dean stares at his phone, disheartened. If Jody knows what’s been happening… Dean grabs his phone, tapping Jody’s name before he can change his mind. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward.

“H-Hello?”

Dean blinks. There’s that question answered. “… Sam?”

“Dean? Dean!” There’s something in Sam’s voice - terrified and hysterical. What the Hell is going on over there?

Dean clears his throat. “Hey, Sam. We, uh, we need to talk.”

Sam huffs softly. “I know, Dean.”

Of course he does.

Sam continues, “You don’t have to say it - I know you hate me.”

… _What the HELL?!_

“What the Hell, Sammy?!”

“No, I get it, Dean. It’s fine if you hate me, you don’t have to keep pretending. I won’t - I won’t burden you anymore, I promise.”

Dean can’t even process this, it’s so out of left field. “What the Hell - _Jesus_ , Sammy, I don’t hate you! Why would you -“

“It’s _okay_ , Dean,” Sam replies earnestly, and Dean can see his face, open and intent with those wide puppy-eyes. “You don’t have to lie anymore. Half the time, I hate me, too - I mean, who wouldn’t, after all the things I’ve done?”

“Dammit, Sam - I don’t - Why would you think I hate you?!”

“Well, that’s the only explanation - why you trusted an angel you barely knew over me, tricked me into letting him into my body after Lucifer, let Crowley in me after Meg. I killed Kevin, I didn’t finish the Trials, I mean, you said it yourself - I didn’t look for you when you were in Purgatory, I lost my soul, I started the Apocalypse, I drank demon blood and trusted Ruby - I have _demon blood_ in me, Dean. It only makes sense that you hate me, you _should,_ I should still be punished -“

“ _Sammy!_ ”

There’s silence across the line, and all Dean can hear is his own horrified breathing. What the Hell? Just - _What the Hell?!_

“Is - is there something else?” Sam asks timidly, and Dean thinks he might vomit. “Did I forget a mistake? I won’t do it again, I’ll try to fix it, I promise -“

 _“Jesus_ , Sammy, I don’t - Why would you -“

There’s the scuffle of the phone changing hands, and Jody’s voice comes over the line. “I think this conversation is over, Dean.”

“Jody, I - What the Hell just happened?!”

“Why are you calling, Dean?”

“ _Sam_ , Jody.” Dean insists.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Jody sighs. “Your call woke Sam up from a nightmare. He’s still a little disoriented.”

“Disoriented? That was a little more than disoriented, Jody! He was completely off the rails!”

“Dean, that’s enough,” Jody snaps, and Dean can imagine her face, brow furrowed and lips pressed in a hard line.

“Look - I’m coming to get Sam, okay? He needs -“

“If you come here with _any_ intention besides apologising to your brother, I will pump you full of buckshot, understand?”

“Jody -“

“ _Goodbye,_ Dean.”

There’s a click, and then a long, flat dial tone.

Jody knows.

Jody _knows._

She knows that he was a demon, knows that’s why Sam came to her for refuge, knows what a monster he became -

And Sam - What the Hell was that about punishment?!

_Not Dean, Michael, not Dean, not him - I deserve his wrath, your wrath, I know -_

The breath rushes out of Dean’s lungs. Sam had been digging into his palm.

_You managed to send him back into the Cage!_

No.

_It only makes sense that you hate me -_

Oh God, no.

_I should still be punished -_

Dean doesn’t even make it out of his chair before he vomits.

For a while the only sounds in the bunker are his retching, because Sam thought he was Michael, Sam thought he was one of his _torturers from the Cage -_ And why shouldn’t he, when Dean actively tortured his _own brother -_

_Fuck._

All his life, he’s looked after Sammy, protected him -

 _You didn’t protect him from Lucifer,_ a nasty voice in his head reminds him, _You didn’t protect him from YOURSELF._

One of Jesse’s notebooks is full of reports of the havoc Dean had wrought, and a damning list of Sam’s injuries and how far they’ve healed. Because this is Sam, who pushes and pushes and never stops working until the candle’s not just burned out at both ends, there’s a charred spot where it burned the ground underneath.

Because Dean wasn’t there to look out for him, because Dean had looked at him as another victim, as - as _prey._

Dean retches again, and all that comes up is bile. 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam says quietly, looking down.

Jody sighs as she takes in Sam’s hangdog expression and clasps his shoulder gently. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Sam. Why don’t you head on to bed, it’s late.”

Sam snorts. He woke up from a nightmare where Michael castigated him for his sins, and _he believed him_ , and didn’t even manage to clear his head before carrying that glorious mindfuck on to Dean. Yeah, that’s _really_ going to convince Dean of his competence. “So when’s Dean coming?”

“Whenever he decides to apologise,” Jody replies curtly.

Sam blinks. “… What?”

Jody stifles a sigh and sits down on the couch beside Sam. “Sam, after everything that’s happened, I think the one thing you really need from your brother right now is an apology.”

Sam startles, shaking his head. “No - Jody, it’s fine. It’s been pretty rough for us all; Dean just needs time.”

“Time for what, Sam?” Jody asks gently.

“I -“ Sam trails off, conflicted.

Jody keeps her expression gentle and her body language calm and open. “I think you and I both know that this - the way things are between you are Dean right now - it can’t continue.”

“I tried,” Sam replies miserably, “I tried, but there was so much else going on. All it did was push him away until he turned into a demon.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Sam,” Jody points out patiently, “From what I hear, Dean made his own choices, and you saved him. And I know you - you would have done _everything_ in your power to save him.”

“I tried,” Sam admits quietly. “I tried to be there for him, tried to help him stay calm so that the Mark wouldn’t get a hold of him, tried to watch his back - but it wasn’t enough.”

“Sounds to me like you did more than enough.”

“I…”

“Dean has to own up to his choices and actions, Sam. You can’t keep carrying all the weight.”

Sam laughs weakly, his voice thick. “I don’t even know if we know how to do that anymore, Jody.”

“Then maybe it’s time you learned,” Jody suggests, “Look, I’m not going to force you to do anything, but I really think it’d be better if you stayed somewhere… neutral, for a while. Let Dean come to his senses. Maybe this is what you boys need to start rebuilding.”

Sam looks pensive, and Jody smiles softly. “Just think on it, okay?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. I, uh, I better get off the couch so the boys can actually get to sleep.”

“They’ll probably end up pulling an all-nighter in the basement.”

Sam frowns reflexively. “They have school tomorrow.”

…

“Oh God, did I just say that?!”

Jody bursts out laughing. “Welcome to being a parent, Sam.”

* * *

“Sam?”

Sam looks up from his book to see Jesse poking his head into the room. “Jesse? It’s three in the morning, what are you still doing up?”

Jesse shrugs. “What are you?”

“I took a nap, remember,” Sam replies wryly.

“Didn’t seem like a very good nap.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Did you get any backlash from that?”

Jesse shakes his head. “No, I guess… I don’t want to go to sleep tonight. I’m kinda scared.”

Sam swallows. “Because of the Cage.”

Jesse’s gaze drops. “How do you stand it, Sam? How _can_ you?”

Sam shifts on the bed, ushering Jesse into the room. “I’ve been doing it a long time. You have to focus on what’s in front of you, the good - helping people, seeing you guys… Find what makes you happy, what grounds you, and hold on to that.”

Jesse nods slowly. “Does it ever - is it easier for you now?”

Sam smiles fondly. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. Come on, hop up. Let’s see if we can’t do something about your insomnia.”

Jesse stares at him dubiously. “Sam, I’m thirteen. I’m a little old for bedtime stories, don’t you think?”

Sam laughs, reaching for his laptop. “You wish, bud. Jess and I used to watch Lord of the Rings when we couldn’t get to sleep, or were working late. Sometimes, it just helps to have some mindless television. So, take your pick - Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Transformers, or Die Hard.”

Jesse muses. “I’ve never seen Lord of the Rings…”

“Jess would consider that criminal negligence, so I guess that’s what we’re watching.”

* * *

Dean wakes up with a start, blood on his hands, blood everywhere, bodies strewn everywhere around him - _Sammy no please SAMMY -_

No.

No, it’s not real.

His hands are shaking, but they’re not covered in blood. He’s in Sammy’s room, he fell asleep sitting on the floor against his bed. The entire room is uncomfortable as fuck, still resembling a storage closet more than an actual bedroom.

One half of Sam’s meticulously neat desk is a mess of papers - grade reports and scored homework and scratch paper and pictures from the kids. They’re pretty much the only signs of life apart from Sam’s mostly packed duffel, and a handful of mementos. There’s a framed picture of Mary and John on his bedside desk - Dad had given that to him when Sam eight? Less given and more allowed Sam to keep it after he swiped it from Dad’s bag. Beside it are Sam’s tablet, wallet, and Taurus.

That’s it.

This is how much Sam unpacks in _motel rooms._  

His bed is neat, as if he hasn’t slept in it, and given that the last time he was in Sam’s room, Sam had nearly _shot_ him, he wouldn’t be surprised if Sam _hadn’t_ slept in his room. Some of the rooms around Sam’s look like they’ve been occupied; maybe it wasn’t just the kids who used them.

_Fuck._

His mind’s running around in circles, still trying to process having been a demon, still trying to process Sam -

Never mind, Sam’s a problem all on his own.

His head falls back against the bed with a soft thud. What is he supposed to do? Sam’s gone, away from Dean, taking his words to heart at all the wrong times. Maybe it really would be best if they weren’t brothers.

He needs a drink.

Because this - he knows he and Sam have had some problems. He’s said some shit, Sam’s done some shit - a lot of shit - but at the end of the day, they’re brothers. Family. They’re all each other has. They can get through this, right?

“Sammy…”

He sounds like he’s about to cry, _feels_ like he’s about to cry, feels the weight of his failure to protect Sam crushing him. What is he supposed to do?

He’d call Sam to try and figure this out, but he knows Jody’ll be on the other end of the line, guarding Sam.  
 ****

Why did this - _how_ did this - happen? When did it all go so wrong?

And what was he supposed to do to fix it?

There’s a sketch of Jess in Sam’s wallet, meticulously drawn with love in every line. All these years, and she’s never left him. He’s never left _her._ Sometimes Sammy and Dad really are alike.

_I should still be punished_   
****

No. Fuck that line, Sam’s not the one who should be punished.

No matter how much Dean reminds him of - of Michael, Sam has to know that’s behind him. That Dean’s not going to hurt him.  
 ****

All he’s ever wanted, all he’s ever tried to do, is protect his brother.  
 ****

 _And yet you carved him up like a Thanksgiving turkey,_ the voice in his head reminds him. _Fantastic protection._

Fuck.

Dean closes his eyes, feeling a tear escape, his breathing strained by his failure, miserable and damning -

“I’m sorry, Sammy.”

He doesn’t even recognise his own voice.

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

Jody’s rare day off is interrupted with the boisterous arrival of five teens, chatter and thuds of backpacks falling and feet stomping exploding in her house the moment they get in. Sam looks up with a grin, and Jody’s eyebrows widen. “Wow.”

“Yeah, imagine what that sounds like with the bunker’s acoustics.”

“Spanish is a _bitch,_ oh my God Sam _-“_

“Jesse finished the _entire_ Lord of the Rings trilogy -“

“I managed not to punch Louis in the throat -“

“I aced the quiz in Math -“

Jody and Sam whistle sharply in unison and the teens fall silent, blinking in confusion and innocence.

“Hi, guys,” Sam say wryly, “It’s nice to see you, too.”

There’s a moment of silence before the overlapping chatter starts up again, and Jody just looks at Sam helplessly.

“No but _dude -“_

“And he _totally -“_

“All three books in _eight hours -“_

“Just let them run out of steam,” Sam advises Jody, “It’ll be easier.”

“Hey, do we have any food?”

Claire automatically smacks Jacob upside the head. “Jacob! That’s the first thing you ask?!”

“I’m hungry!”

“We’re growing boys, Claire,” Ben wheedles, “We need fooooood.”

“I promise I _did_ try to teach them manners,” Sam says to Jody while Claire scolds them. “It didn’t necessarily take.”

Jody laughs. “Guys, go see if there’s anything in the kitchen.”

“Yes!” Ben and Jacob punch their fists in the air.

“I think we have some Doritos, unless Ben _ate_ them all,” Alex adds.

“I resent that!”

“You resemble it more like -“

“There’s a ton of fruit, too,” Jesse points out.

“Seriously, Jes? No one eats fruit!”

“Oh yeah? Let me know how that scurvy works out for you -“

“I feel exhausted just listening to them,” Jody says with a laugh as they disappear into the kitchen. “Guess our peace and quiet’s done for the day.”

Fifteen minutes later, teenagers are once again sprawled all over her living room, and Claire’s already pushing the others to get their homework out.

“Claire, come _on_ ,” Alex complains, kicking her backpack away, “We literally just got out of school. Do you ever stop?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “How do you _think_ I keep a 3.9 GPA?”

“Black magic?” Ben offers.

“Ravenclaw’s Diadem?” Jesse pipes up.

Claire throws her eraser at them.

Sam just smiles widely, eyes crinkling and dimples deepening.

Jody shakes her head. “Alright, I have to ask - Do your parents actually know you’re here?”

“I don’t have any parents besides Sam,” Jesse replies bluntly, not looking up from his copy of the _Silmarillion._

“My mother wouldn’t notice the house burning down.”

“Eh, Annalise is mostly in it for the check. As long as I don’t wind up in the hospital or get brought home by the cops, she doesn’t care what I get up to.”

“Linda gave up trying to keep track of me, like, a year ago.”

They’re so blithe about it, Jody can’t stop the sadness from crossing her face. It’s not really a surprise, she’s seen plenty of cases like this, too. It makes even more sense that they’d latch on to Sam so tightly, Sam with his warm heart and open smile.

“Besides,” Ben adds cheerfully, “ _Someone’s_ got to keep an eye on Sam.”

“You guys know I'm not an invalid, right?” Sam protests.

“Yeah, but when we leave you to your own devices you do stupid things.”

Sam sputters. “I do not!”

Ben opens his mouth to respond, and Sam cuts in, “Don’t you have homework you’re supposed to be doing?”

Ben groans. “Fine, fine, I’ll review the friggin’ Constitution again - oh my _God_ I live in _hick country,_ it’s not like anyone even _knows_ the Constitution _exists_ , let alone what it _says,_ but state makes us study it like fifteen times from sixth grade on -“

“Probably _because_ no one knows it,” Jacob points out.

“ - No one asked you, Fox Boy -“

Sam lets Ben’s stream of grumbling wash over him, and gestures for him to show him his worksheet. Ben complains like it’s his job, but he chose American Government as his elective all on his own.

Jody watches Sam and the teens fondly. Alex is smiling and grinning, teasing Claire, who gives back as good as she gets. Ben and Jacob bicker good-naturedly, while Jesse diverts part of Sam’s attention back to himself and his book. She thinks that maybe this is what Owen would have been like growing up, her house alive with the sound of him and his friends having fun.

And thinking of him now hurts a little bit less.

* * *

Dean exhales slowly, staring at the door to Jody’s house. The sky’s growing dark; it’s late in the evening. Jody told him not to come, but -

\- He needs Sam. Needs to know they can work this out.

He raises his fist and knocks.  
 ****

Ben opens the door, and promptly slams it shut in his face.

What the Hell?! What is Ben even _doing_ here?!

“Ben! Jody, open up!”

He knocks on the door a lot longer, before the door’s yanked open, this time by Jacob. “Piss off, douchebag, you’ve hurt Sam enough for one lifetime.”

Dean jams his foot between the door and the doorframe, inwardly wincing at the force Jacob puts into trying to slam the door shut. “Look,” he snaps, “This ain’t about you. I just need to talk to Sam.”

“Sam’s unavailable right now,” Jacob replies acidly, and Dean can see Ben and Jesse coming up behind him, rearing for a fight.

Damn it.

“Guys.”

Sam’s voice is soft and even, but all attention shifts to him. “I’m just going to step outside for a minute.”

“What?!”

“Come on, Sam, you don’t owe him anything!”

Sam smiles faintly. “He’s my brother. Now relax, I’m only going to be about ten feet away.”

Relaxing is pretty much the opposite of what the boys do, but they step aside anyway.

Sam steps out into the dying light, his expression guarded. “Hey, Dean.”

“Sammy.”

Sam looks like _shit._ His expression is pale and drawn, and his posture is wary and tense. Sam’s protecting himself - from Dean.

Jesus.

Dean gets the impulse to hug him, but there’s an angry kitsune and Antichrist a few feet away, and today’s not high on his list of days to die. Instead, he and Sam walk out a ways, and he clears his throat. “We should, uh, we should talk.”

Sam wants to laugh. Talk, right. About his meltdowns? About Dean’s displeasure over how he brought Dean back to his normal self? About being a demon, about the Mark, about Kevin and Gadreel, about ‘we’re family’ being a panacea for all the damage between them, except that it _isn’t?_

Sam doesn’t think he can hear that right now. He nods carefully, waiting for Dean to continue. 

“I know it’s been rough for us lately,” Dean says, “I mean, Hell, it’s - it’s pretty embarrassing, the whole thing with Crowley, and being a demon -“

“Embarrassing, right.” Sam feels like he’s sinking, like everything he’s done has been for nothing. “Okay. Great talk, Dean.”

He’s so _tired_. He turns back to see Jody holding Jesse and Ben back by their shirts, and it’s taking both Claire and Alex to keep a hold of Jacob. Jody’s face is creased in worry, and for once, just _once,_ he wants to be selfish, he wants to stay here, in this bubble of peace where he’s loved and respected and looked up to, where he never feels like he has to hold himself in check. He’s been happier over the past three days than he has in… he can’t even remember anymore. 

And now? With Dean still missing the point? He can’t do this.

He turns on his heel and starts to walk away.

“Sammy - Sam, wait!”

Sam stills, and Dean catches up to him, grabbing his elbow. “Come on, man, you know I’m not good at this.”

Sam’s shoulders are tight, and his mouth’s drawn in a flat line as he turns to look at Dean.

“I mean, I kind of suck at the whole - Dr. Phil stuff,” Dean tries to joke, but Sam’s expression remains blank. “I guess, what I’m trying to say is, with all the crap that’s gone down between us, how rough the last couple months have been -“ he can see he’s starting to lose Sam again, so he blurts out, “I’m sorry!”

Sam looks stunned. “… What?”

Aw, come on, is Sam really going to make him say it again? “I’m sorry. For - what I did. What you had to go through.”

Sam’s jaw drops, and it’s like he’s seeing Dean for the first time - like he’s seeing a Dean he lost a long time ago.

“I - I wanna make this right, Sammy.”

Sam feels a chill spread through him. He wants this, wants to be brothers on an equal footing again, he wants it more than anything… but he’s not ready. It’s selfish and stupid and not fair to Dean, but the thought of going back to the bunker, of all the tension still in the air and scars from the past several months - more than a year, if he’s honest with himself - he can’t do it.

He stumbles back without realising it. “I - I need some time, Dean. Please.”

Time, air, space, to put the pieces of himself back together.

Dean swallows. “Okay.”

Sam’s eyes widen, and he’s even more stunned. “… Okay?”

Dean gives him a crooked smile. “I told you, I want to make things right between us. Go back to the way things were. And if this is what you need… I can work with that.”

Sam feels a knot in his chest ease, and he can breathe again. This can work. They can make this work.

He smiles, a truer smile than Dean’s seen in a long time, dimples flashing and eyes crinkling at the corners. He doesn’t look remotely as worn down as he did when Dean first turned up; straightening and unfurling like a flower under the sun. 

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Please, let me know!
> 
> I have a shiny new Tumblr for all your SWSH needs here: s-w-s-h.tumblr.com


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